


Can't Find Paradise On The Ground

by icantloseyoutoo



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Angry Clarke Griffin, Angst, Bellamy Blake Being an Asshole, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Flashbacks, Med Student Clarke Griffin, The 100 (TV) Season 1, a little fluff if you squint, ahhhh I miss the delinquents, but like... ANGST angst, dropship nostalgia, god i miss season one, might update tags as I go along but for now shhhh no spoilers, season 7?? i dont know her, so much pain, take me back, wells is a perceptive king and we love him - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantloseyoutoo/pseuds/icantloseyoutoo
Summary: Earth was supposed to be a fresh start. A new beginning. The salvation of the human race. And maybe it would be if Clarke wasn't stuck there with the one person who made her want to throw herself off the edge of the planet: Bellamy Fucking Blake.Old wounds are ripped fresh open as they clash for leadership, but as a greater threat looms, they realise they might have to put aside their differences for the good of the camp.In other words: a Season 1 AU because I miss their dynamics and plenty of twists and turns along the way. Enjoy the ride, friends
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 56
Kudos: 118





	1. Memories Like a Battering Ram

**Author's Note:**

> what's this? another fic, when you haven't completed cups and sorcerers yet? surely not!!
> 
> i'm so sorry but this fic has me in a stranglehold and i think it's going to be a long ride. i hope you like it as much as i do.
> 
> huge thank you to jen (eyessharpweaponshot) who has been my rock and a brilliant sounding board through all this, love you heaps <3
> 
> check out the moodboard on my socials!  
> tumblr: icantloseyou-too  
> twitter: cantloseyou_too

With just one look at his face as he commanded the attention of everyone on the dropship, Clarke suddenly wished she was back in prison.

Her journey to the dropship hadn’t been the smoothest. Ripped from her cell with no warning and a clunky metal wristband strapped to her arm, her instinct was to fight. Even when she saw the rest of the juvenile prisoners undergoing the same treatment, she could never have imagined what was really happening until her mother told her: they were being sent to the ground.

Earth. Thoughts of a toxic, irradiated wasteland invaded her mind, images of screaming children with angry sores and blood spilling from their mouths, and she had scrambled to get free from the guard’s hold. The sharp pressure of a needle in her neck stopped her in her tracks, and the world faded to black.

By the time she woke, they were almost on the ground. Still groggy, she wasn’t sure if she was imagining Wells sitting strapped into the seat next to her until she saw the looks on the other kids’ faces, and for once they weren’t staring daggers at her. It wasn’t often someone from Alpha station got sent to the Skybox, let alone the son of the Chancellor. People like them didn’t exactly fly under the radar here.

“Wells?” she had croaked. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard what my dad was planning. Made sure I was sent down here with you.”

“What? No, Wells, you shouldn’t have done that – it’s not safe!” As if to prove her point, two of the bolder kids unstrapped themselves from their seats, floating in zero G and doing tricks. Then, without warning, the gravity in the dropship shifted as they entered Earth’s atmosphere. It felt like something pulled at Clarke’s insides, dragging her down into her seat while she watched the two boys ricochet across the walls, slamming down hard to the ground. Blood.

Sickness rose in her gut as they came to a hard landing, and the dropship fell silent. The absence of sound was a new experience for her – back on the Ark, something was always making noise. Commotion in the mess hall, the marching of the guards making their rounds, the background hum of the machines that kept the beating heart of the Ark alive; never a moment’s silence until now. To Clarke, it sounded like death.

Just like that, for the first time ever, they were on solid ground. Clarke had unbuckled herself to check on the two boys. She felt for a pulse on the one nearest to her. Gone. Another boy with dark hair to his chin was already kneeling beside the second kid, but with a shake of his head, she knew he was dead too. Studying the long-haired boy more closely, she recognised his face. “You’re the spacewalker.”

“Finn.” He corrected, standing up. He offered her a hand. Clarke didn’t take it.

“Cost us a month of oxygen.” Oxygen waste was a sore spot for her. Before he could reply, a clamouring of voices erupted from the lower level. Eager to keep everyone’s heads cool, Clarke pushed her way through the source, finding a gathering crowd by the door. “Stop!” She shouted, seeing a boy’s hand on the lever controlling the outer door. Strange, from the back it looked like a Guard jacket… _couldn’t be_. She shook the thought out of her head, refocused on the task at hand. “The air could be toxic.”

And there he was. He turned his head ever so slowly, recognising her voice. The sight of him hit her like a punch to the gut, and she took a step back, winded. At least while Clarke was in her prison cell, she only had to see his face in her dreams. “If the air’s toxic, we’re all dead anyway.”

-

_Hearing your name being called over the Ark’s comms system was never a good thing. For most people, it meant you were in trouble. Clarke imagined it was close to what kids on Earth felt like when they were sent to the principal’s office like in the old teen movies she watched growing up. Here, you were less likely to get a detention and more likely to be arrested. Never one to be on the wrong side of the law, Clarke knew she wasn’t about to be in cuffs, but when her name was echoed through the hallways, her stomach dropped all the same. When you were a medical apprentice, being called in on your day off meant something bad was happening._

_Her mom was there already, probably in the thick of it, so she jogged rather than walked to medical. The sounds of chaos reached her before she could see what was happening, but before long the presence of the Guards was overwhelming. Civilians cuffed to gurneys and flanked by Guards, wounded Guards on gurneys themselves, a small child crying while his mother tried to soothe him; it was bedlam. A hand pushed against her shoulder as she tried to enter the treatment area._

_“ID?” A gruff voice in a Guard uniform. She whipped out her card, identifying her as medical personnel, and he jerked his head to the entrance to grant her access._

_Clarke swiped her card to the screen to clock in, and spotted her mother at the far end with her hands deep in a woman’s abdomen. “She’s losing too much blood; we need to get her to surgery now. Jackson, get the wheels.”_

_“Mom?” She called out._

_“Clarke!” Abby jerked her head up. “Can you handle the minor injuries?”_

_“Yeah,” she replied, but her mother didn’t hang around to hear it, already on the move. Clarke didn’t take it personally; she’d never seen the place this packed, not even with the recent spike of oxygen deprivation cases the Ark had been dealing with. Secretly, she was glad not to have to deal with the major injuries her mother was treating. She was still only in the early years of her training, much more used to the basics: clean a wound, stitch a cut, give oxygen, and on the other end of the spectrum, perform chest compressions. Anything in between terrified her._

_At triage, she was pointed in the direction of the less serious injuries. These patients had been kept away from some of the madness, and Clarke had been told this somewhat resembled the way things would have been done on Earth. Of course they didn’t have the same amount of space or resources now, but some modicum of order gave comfort to the more seasoned medics. She turned her attention to the most urgent looking of the bunch: a member of the Guard pressing a cloth to his steadily bleeding arm._

_“Come with me,” She beckoned him towards a private room. Anticipating her needs, he shrugged off the jacket so she could examine him. It was a nasty cut, maybe 4 inches long, on his left forearm. Deep, but not deep enough to hit the nerves, and it missed the major vessels. “Could have been a lot worse,” Clarke looked at his face for the first time, and the breath caught in her throat._

_Probably a couple of years older than her, his hair was midnight black, and it shone in the lighting of the treatment room just as brightly as the damn twinkle in his eyes. It should have been smoothed back as per regulation, but in the commotion a curl had sprung free, lightly kissing his forehead. Freckles scattered like spilled sugar across his face; his full lips wore an easy smile despite himself. He was maybe the most beautiful person Clarke had ever seen. Suddenly timid, she cleared her throat. “Needs stitches,” she mumbled, busying herself with gathering the equipment._

_“Wouldn’t be the first time,” He commented while she pulled up a stool._

_Clarke quirked an eyebrow, regaining composure. “You jump into the firing line a lot?” She knew someone that young wouldn’t usually see a lot of excitement on the job, not that there was much action on the Ark at all._

_“Only when there’s a pretty girl around.” He flashed a grin when she snorted at his sarcasm. “No, I was just a clumsy kid. Got a few scars.”_

_The edges of the wound were neat, making it easy work for Clarke. To keep him occupied, she spoke as the suture pinched his skin. “What happened out there? It looks bad.”_

_“Fight broke out in the mess hall, illegal trade gone wrong. Things got messy when one of them pulled a knife. She sliced me; my boss shot her.”_

_He said it so casually it was like he was telling her what he ate for breakfast this morning. Clarke supposed it didn’t bother him, the same way her family could discuss some pretty gross medical cases over the dinner table without their meals coming back up to greet them. His story explained why there was so much fuss – no one fired a weapon on the Ark unless it was absolutely necessary. Too risky that they might hit something vital, enough so that only the few highest-ranking members of the Guard carried a weapon. Most just had shock batons, like the one on his belt._

_“You’re good at this,” He observed, noting the neat lines she was making._

_She ignored the blush creeping up her cheeks from being under his gaze. “I like things like this. Things I can take my time with, make them pretty. It’s like art.”_

_“You draw?”_

_“Sometimes.”_

_“Maybe you could teach me some day.”_

_Her lip twitched upwards as she placed the last stitch. She tied off the string and snipped the loose end before giving the wound one last layer of protection – a large dressing. With that, she was done. “Keep this dry and come back in 10 days, I’ll take them out then.”_

_“So I’ve got to wait 10 days to see you again,” He eyed her ID card. “Clarke?”_

_“I never said that. What’s your name?” She matched his smirk. “For the medical records.”_

_“Bellamy Blake.”_

-

“Bellamy?” Clarke was surprised to find that the word didn’t come from her own mouth, but rather from a younger brunette dropping down from the ladder to the upper levels. Most of the time Clarke was in Skybox she’d been kept in solitary, only catching whispers of gossip from people walking by, but the news of Octavia Blake was so scandalous it reached her without trouble. For sixteen years, Bellamy and his mother had kept her hidden in a panel under the floor in their housing unit; nearly a record, and the first sibling to be born on the Ark in generations. Just another lie he’d told her.

Octavia was something akin to a celebrity to some; her discovery was certainly the most interesting thing the population of the Ark had heard of for decades. The ‘no sibling’ rule was always polarising, especially among divorced and widowed citizens. Exceptions were made, of course, for twins, but the last set died well before Clarke was born. As controversial as the law was, Clarke understood why it was in place. It was hardly a new idea either; one-child policies existed on Earth for some time before the bombs, but the fact that it was necessary to save oxygen didn’t mean Clarke had to like it. She was glad she didn’t have to make the rules.

She watched as Octavia and Bellamy exchanged words, just the two of them. Though she had heard about Octavia just like everyone else, Clarke had never actually met her. Taking the chance to see the siblings together, despite only sharing one parent, the resemblance was clear. Both had the same dark hair of their mother, held themselves in the same way, shared mannerisms. It made sense he’d come down to keep an eye on her, the only family he had left. It must be nice to have someone you trusted intrinsically; someone who would do anything for you. Any chance Clarke had to overhear their words was extinguished once the crowd realised who Octavia was, and the murmurs started. She could see Octavia bristle, but a calming hand on her shoulder from Bellamy seemed to ground her before he pulled the lever, and as the dropship door lowered, a blinding white light leaked in.

Clarke braced for radiation sickness, but as her eyes adjusted, she felt nothing but the rush of fresh air on a cool breeze, and Octavia boldly took humanity’s first step onto Earth since the bombs. Her exhilarated laughter echoed through the walls of the dropship, and all at once, the Ark’s delinquents made a break for freedom.

Savouring the experience, Clarke walked out slowly, not wanting to miss the smallest detail. They were in a small clearing, surrounded by trees as far as the eye could see. The air tasted almost sweet on her tongue, no doubt due to flowers or fruits in the nearby foliage; a world away from the recycled air her body was used to. Taking a breath on the ground was like discovering a third lung: every breath seemed magnified, pure oxygen expanding her chest like nothing she had felt before. She was overwhelmed by new sensations and concentrating on one thing at a time was near impossible. Even the feeling of the ground shifting underfoot as she stepped on leaves or twigs was new and exciting, and she felt sure she was heading for sensory overload, but she didn’t care. The smile bloomed on her face, her life in vivid colour for the first time ever. She had imagined for years what Earth might have been like, but a lifetime of dreaming could never come close to the real thing. Her eyes found Wells, and as he spun around in a slow circle, she could tell he was just as enraptured as she was. Maybe Earth wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

By her father’s watch, it took about half an hour for her to collect herself enough to form a clear thought. Though she was still on a high from surviving to the ground, reality was starting to set in, and the question of food and water was beginning to nag at her. She found Wells, who managed to pause his reverie for long enough to explain what she’d missed when she was asleep on the journey down: Chancellor Jaha’s thoughtfully pre-recorded message, explaining where they were being sent, and how they might be able to find food. With all the delinquents running wild in the surrounding woods, the dropship was empty, and Clarke was free to scavenge a few things she’d need. There wasn’t much to find, of course; the Council wasn’t willing to risk the loss of essential items to a potentially doomed mission, but they had been gracious enough to provide a map and compass. While she spread the map over a flat piece of rock outside, she was vaguely aware of Wells a few paces into the dropship, cutting the straps out of the chairs with a sharp shard of metal from the uneasy landing. She was sure he had a reason, but right now she was trying to make sense of what was in front of her. Something was off about the landscape compared to the landing site marked on the map.

Footsteps neared her from behind, and she spoke. “I know you were never much good at Earth Skills, but do you think-”

“ _Never any good_? I was two years ahead of my class.”

Her head whipped around to see who had approached – Finn. “Sorry. Thought you were Wells.” She considered him for a moment, watching as he peered over her shoulder at the map. As rocky as their introduction had been, she could use another set of eyes on this. “Okay, what do you make of this? Best I can tell, we’re south of where we’re supposed to be. The peaks up ahead of us look like the ones here,” Clarke placed her finger on the map. “but that would put us around here instead of where they wanted us.” She slid her finger down a few inches on the page and looked at him expectantly.

Creases appeared in his forehead as he studied their surroundings, before returning his attention to the map and compass. “I think you’re right. But I think we’re actually-” he placed his hand over hers, moving it ever so slightly to the left. “-here.”

His hand lingered on hers for a fraction longer than necessary, breaking off when she made eye contact with him. He looked like he was about to say something, but someone called her name.

“Clarke,” Wells made his way over, carrying something in his arms, and Finn took a step back. “Made a backpack for you. Figured we’d need it to carry supplies.” He passed her one of the bags he was holding, and clocked Finn. “You’re the Spacewalker?”

“Finn. You’re the Chancellor’s son?”

“Wells.”

While they exchanged uncertain greetings, Clarke knotted her eyebrows together as she calculated the distance between their location and Mount Weather, where there should be food rations. “That’s got to be a day’s trek each way,” She said, more to herself than anyone else, but the boys listened anyway, eager to have a distraction from the awkwardness between them. “We’ll need as many people as we can get; there should be a lot to take back with us.”

Wells cleared his throat. “I don’t think you’ll have much luck getting volunteers.” Looking up for the first time in a while, Clarke took in the scene around her. A boy and a girl were making out by the entrance of the dropship, making their way inside for privacy. To her left, a couple of boys she remembered were arrested for their weed stash were play-fighting with each other while Octavia laughed. On her right, Bellamy was making friends fast – he was talking passionately to a group of some of the rougher-looking boys; it almost looked like he was preaching. No one looked like they would jump at the chance for a hike.

“We don’t know what the terrain’s like, and we don’t know the area – the last thing we want to do is set off on a walk, get turned around, and lose our way on a planet we know nothing about.” Finn added. “Give it the night – plan a route, make some friends, and we’ll set off in the morning.”

Clarke eyed Wells, who looked like he agreed, although somewhat reluctantly. Feeling inadequate, her hands fell to her sides. “We can’t just do nothing. There’s a hundred mouths to feed and we don’t even have a bottle of water between us.”

“Then let’s hunt.” Finn’s eyes lit up, a small smile drawing itself out on his face. He must have noticed the quizzical look on her face, because he continued. “I walked the perimeter earlier, noticed animal tracks. Look around you, the Earth is alive and thriving. Where there are plants, there’s water, and there are things that _eat_ plants.”

“Figured you’d be joining the fun with the rest of them.” Clarke jerked a thumb back to the delinquents behind her.

Finn leaned in closer to her ear. “You’re not the only one thinking about the future, Princess.”

She raised an eyebrow at the nickname, tongue pushing against her cheek. _Really?_

“You don’t like being called Princess, do you, Princess?” He teased.

Some deep, instinctual corner of her mind caused a different dark-haired boy to flash through her head for a split second, memories bursting through like a battering ram, before the rational side of her shook it out with loathing. Clarke regained her cool demeanour and gave a nonchalant shrug. “Depends who’s saying it.”

With a conciliatory smile, he stepped back. “Wells, you should come. The way I hear it, you could use a crash course in Earth Skills.” Without further ado, he set off to gather whatever materials he needed for their trip.

Wells shot Clarke a look of confusion. “What’d you tell him?”

“Nothing!” She protested.

He made a noise of disapproval. “I can’t figure out if I like him or not.”

“Well, you liked Bellamy, so I don’t know if you’re the best judge of character.” That came out with more sting than Clarke meant it to, and her face contorted like she’d eaten something sour. If it struck a nerve, Wells had the good grace not to show it.

“I like _you_.” He countered. “Most of the time.”

She pretended not to hear that last part, instead busying herself with the pack Wells had made. It fit nicely on her back; using the straps from the seats was a stroke of genius, and inside she noticed a makeshift water bottle. Pieces of the parachute formed the body, with a lid made from scrap metal. Waterproof and collapsible, it was very… functional, though decidedly not aesthetically pleasing. Aesthetics had never much mattered to Clarke, everything she had ever owned was owned by someone else before her; nothing was ever new. Even the jacket she wore now, oversized by a fair measure, had belonged to her father once upon a time. That, along with his watch, were the only two possessions she ever cared about keeping safe.

As she stashed the map and compass into her pack for safekeeping, Finn arrived back with what he needed. The trio were just getting ready to leave when they caught the attention of a Blake.

“Going somewhere?” Octavia asked brightly, a spring in her step. She was looking at Clarke, but despite the friendly tone, she found her mouth drying up, the response dying in her throat.

Reliably perceptive, Wells answered for her. “Looking for food and water.”

“You want to come?” Finn offered, somewhat to Clarke’s irritation. “The more the merrier.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Let’s go!” Octavia beamed, and Clarke’s eyebrows raised. Glancing at Wells, she thinned her lips into a line, and he winced apologetically. Finn set off with Octavia, both blissfully unaware of Clarke’s discomfort.

“Octavia!” A deep voice thundered as he marched closer. Though Bellamy had called Octavia’s name, it was Finn that was on the receiving end of his glare. Clarke tensed, and Wells gave her arm a reassuring touch.

“What?” Friendliness gone, Octavia dripped irritation as she faced her brother.

His voice was lower, but the severity remained. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Getting food.” When he flashed a look of disdain, she protested, and made a move to walk away. “Come _on_ , Bell, I’m being helpful.”

He grabbed her arm. “Not a chance, you don’t know what’s out there.”

“Bell, stop.” She bit back, jerking out of his grip. Clarke had never seen someone give Bellamy as much gripe as he handed out, and she actually found herself enjoying it.

“If she wants to come, she can come.” Clarke was almost surprised to hear the words leave her mouth; the first time she had deliberately spoken to Bellamy in an age. She was pleased with how firm she had sounded.

His eyes met hers, and she held her ground. Bellamy showed no sign of weakness either. What was that old saying? Unstoppable force, immovable object? “Not up to you, Princess.”

“It’s not up to you, either.” Octavia got between them. “Whatever the hell we want, right?”

Clarke wasn’t sure what that meant, but judging by the murmurs in the small crowd that had gathered during the commotion, Octavia had won this round. She wondered if it had something to do with the speech he’d been giving some of the delinquents earlier. The younger Blake headed for the treeline, but Bellamy stopped Finn before he could follow. “Anything happens to her, it’s on you.”

The boys sized each other up. “Like she said, whatever the hell you want. And by the way,” Finn tipped his head in Clarke’s direction so subtly she almost missed it. “Get your own nickname.”

Bellamy’s face registered some combination of irritation and displeasure, faltering slightly when his gaze flickered to Clarke. For the first time in forever, she knew they were both thinking exactly the same thing.

-

_Bellamy should’ve been here an hour ago, and Clarke was starting to worry. She hadn’t noticed her fingers drumming on the table until her mother placed a soothing hand over hers. “He’ll be here soon, I’m sure he’s just been held up. Maybe an emergency with the Guards.”_

_“If there was an emergency with the Guards, Abby, they’d have told you about it.” Her father added. He had a point. Being the Ark’s most senior doctor wasn’t the only job title her mother held; she was also a Council member, one of six elected officials on the Ark, led by Chancellor Jaha. Every major decision about life on the Ark went through them, and they would be notified about any crisis that needed attention._

_Abby mouthed to him. “Not helping.”_

_Clarke leaned back in her chair and glanced at the clock again as if it would say anything different this time. With a sigh, she looked to her mother. “I’m sorry, Mom, you went to all this trouble…”_

_Usually meals were served communally in the mess hall, a way to make sure everyone was being fed and no one was taking more than their allotted rations. For special occasions, though, you could register to receive your meal package in advance to cook at home. Everyone’s name had to be noted so they could be taken off the list in the mess hall that day, and so Abby had taken four rations out in advance for her family and Bellamy. This was supposed to be the first time he met her parents, and now Clarke wasn’t sure he’d show up at all._

_“It’s fine, honey, really.” She dismissed._

_“No it isn’t,” her father intervened. “You cooked for him, we’ve been waiting for hours, and he hasn’t even bothered to show up – it’s disrespectful.”_

_“90 minutes,” Clarke corrected, though she sounded defeated. Was this Bellamy’s way of saying he wasn’t ready for commitment? They’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but she thought it was going well enough for the introduction. He could have at least talked to her about it if he thought it was too soon, or given some kind of excuse – stomach flu, extra work duty, anything. She didn’t appreciate the radio silence, and she couldn’t take much more of her mother’s pity. “Give or take.”_

_Just then, a frantic knock at the door, the sound reverberating through the metal. Clarke breathed out a sigh of relief and stood to walk to the door, but her father beat her to it. He activated the door, and it slid open to reveal Bellamy, almost doubled over as he panted, gripping the wall for support with one arm while he caught his breath. He straightened up as soon as he saw Clarke’s father, and she noticed a sheen of sweat on his brow._

_“Nice of you to grace us with your presence.” He smiled sardonically._

_“Jake!” Abby scolded._

_“No, he’s right, I’m so sorry I got held up, it wasn’t my intention to cause you trouble.” Bellamy addressed her. “Dr Griffin, Mr Griffin, I’m Bellamy Blake. It’s wonderful to officially meet you. Clarke speaks very highly of you both.”_

_Jake regarded Bellamy’s outstretched hand with scepticism at first, but shook it after Clarke elbowed him in the ribs. Abby needed no encouragement and clasped his hand with a smile. Clarke figured she was just happy she didn’t waste the dinner after all._

_“Did you sprint all the way from Factory station?” Clarke asked with a laugh as she walked him to the kitchen table, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re dripping sweat.”_

_“No, we had a surprise inspection while I was getting ready. Would’ve been fine like usual, but I was so nervous for tonight they thought I was hiding something.” He explained, addressing her parents as well. “They detained me for questioning, I just got out.”_

_Clarke noticed Jake’s harsh gaze soften a bit in understanding. He hadn’t relaxed completely, but she knew he wouldn’t hold Bellamy’s lateness against him. What the Guard says goes, no matter who you are or where you have to be, on the threat of being floated. She hoped whatever wariness remained was just the usual fatherly suspicion of the first boy she ever brought home. “Well, as long as they didn’t find your illegal stash.” Jake’s tone was significantly lighter, and a small twitch of his lip upwards gave Bellamy permission to continue the joke._

_“Oh, no, we hide it much too well for that.” He flashed his signature grin, and she probably should’ve predicted just how well the twinkle in her father’s eyes would match Bellamy’s, but it surprised her nonetheless. Jake clapped his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder and gestured for him to sit down, much more accepting of his presence. Maybe he remembered how nervous he felt the first time he met Abby’s parents, hopefully starting to feel some sympathy._

_Abby busied herself with reheating the food and pouring drinks while Clarke facilitated conversation between Bellamy and her dad, trying to make him more comfortable. Despite their frosty introduction, the two seemed to be warming to each other well enough, under the circumstances. Leaving them to it, Clarke stood to help her mom take the food out. Setting a plate in front of Jake, Clarke watched as he took a sip of water and sank into his seat, brows scrunched together in thought. “Blake… I don’t think I’ve come across that name before. I’m in Factory Station for work sometimes, what do your parents do?”_

_“Uh,” Bellamy scratched the back of his neck. “Well, my mom’s a seamstress, but mostly she just looks after me.”_

_“And your dad?”_

_Clarke froze, knowing Jake had just stumbled on to a conversational landmine. Her eyes darted to Bellamy, who to his credit, seemed to take it on the chin. With a tight smile, he replied politely. “It’s just me and my mom.”_

_“Oh,” Jake replied. “Do you watch football? Clarke and I are watching a recording of the… what was it – the 2012 Super Bowl? Clarke thinks the Giants have it in the bag, but I’m a Patriots man.”_

_“You just like Tom Brady,” She scoffed, pleased that the bomb was defused._

_“He’s a good player!” Jake argued, and Bellamy smiled at their banter. “Tell me you support the Giants for any reason other than you think New York would have been a cool place to visit – I see your sketches.”_

_Jake had always been the playful, teasing father, and it was no surprise that once he’d broken the ice with Bellamy, the dynamic there was the same. While Abby was asking about his mother, his training with the Guards, and his hopes for the future, Jake was telling embarrassing childhood stories about Clarke. Much to Clarke’s chagrin, Bellamy even got the chance to join in, telling them about the time Clarke fell flat on her face on their first date. Despite the embarrassment, Clarke was happy to see her parents’ acceptance of Bellamy, and she was pleased to see how well he fit into her family dynamic; like he should have been there the whole time. The dinner passed much the same way, trading stories – usually at Clarke’s expense – until another knock at the door, this time unexpected._

_Abby answered it, finding one of the Guards outside. “Dr Griffin, there’s been an accident. One of the engineers has been cut quite badly, and Dr Jackson is asking for your help.”_

_While Abby grabbed her things, Jake cut in. “Which engineer?”_

_“Kyle Wick, sir.”_

_“Dammit,” Jake sighed, dropping his napkin into his plate. “He’s one of mine, I’m coming too.” He stood, and placed a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder as he passed him. “I think you’re alright, kid, but as Clarke’s father, I’ve got to tell you something.”_

_“Oh God,” Clarke muttered under her breath._

_“If you hurt her, I’m gonna have to float you.”_

_“Dad!” She groaned, head in her hands._

_“No need, Mr Griffin,” Bellamy replied. “If I hurt her, I’ll float myself.”_

_His response seemed to satisfy Jake, who followed after Abby while Clarke mouthed an apology to Bellamy. Soon after her parents left, the room went quiet, just the two of them left in her living quarters. She expected Bellamy to exhale a deep breath, shake off the tension from what was probably a stressful dinner, but instead he let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh._

_“What is it?”_

_“Nothing, it’s just…” he shook his head lightly. “What’s a girl like you doing slumming it with a boy from Factory Station?”_

_“I am not ‘slumming it’ with you.” She used air quotes around the words._

_“Are you kidding me? Your mom’s on the Council and the best doctor we have, and your dad’s the lead engineer for the Ark. No one comes knocking at_ my _family’s door for an emergency.” He pointed out. “They’re practically Ark royalty.”_

_Clarke chuckled. “If they’re Ark royalty, what does that make me?”_

_“The Ark Princess.” He said with a grin, noticing how she flushed red at the nickname. He stood, slowly making his way around to where Clarke was sitting opposite him. As he came up behind her, he leaned in, hands gripping the table either side of her. With one hand, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and whispered. “Do you like that name, Princess?”_

_“No,” Clarke managed, but it didn’t sound convincing._

_“You sure about that, Princess?”_

_Being this close to him was maddening, feeling the heat of his breath on her cheek. She hated how much he affected her. She stood and faced him, willing her features to stay cool. This was the first time in a long time that the two of them were safely alone, with no risk of interruption for quite some time. Usually at least one of Clarke’s parents were here, and Bellamy never seemed to want Clarke back at his place either. Whether it was because of his mother, or if he felt ashamed for some reason, Clarke wasn’t sure, but right now, there was nothing stopping them. No more sneaking around quiet corners of the Ark, no hiding in supply closets when someone got near, finally they were alone. Not trusting her voice to stay steady, she circled her thumb and forefinger around his wrist and jerked her head to the right, towards her bedroom, taking the first step in that direction. Bellamy’s trademark smirk slid onto his face, and she could tell he was proud of how he made her feel. As she led him to her room, Clarke’s face wore a smirk of her own. This boy had no idea what he was in for._


	2. Every Time You Speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! another chapter for you - i hope you enjoyed chapter one, there's plenty more where that came from! i'm thinking of updating every one or two weeks, depending on my schedule, so keep an eye out for new chapters <3

“How are we supposed to hunt without any weapons?” Wells asked, stumbling through the terrain like the lumbering giant he was.

“Well, we can make some weapons from the dropship wreckage; knives and spears most likely,” Finn commented as he crouched down, inspecting a broken branch of a bush. “Until then, we can make traps and snares.”

Clarke was keeping pace with Finn, studying what he was looking out for. Animal tracks in the dirt, tufts of fur on bushes, signs of droppings, anything that would give an indication of where they might find a meal. Finn was also talking Wells through how to find fresh water, which seemed more his speed. The idea of Wells holding a weapon was alien to her. He had always been so gentle, so kind, much more likely to take a punch for someone than to throw one. Confrontation definitely wasn’t his strong suit. The boys were discussing setting up a rainwater collection system back at the dropship, maybe making some troughs out of metal and chopped logs, and Clarke tuned them out. Octavia, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of her life. Stopping to smell every flower, she spun around as they walked, taking in the world from every angle. It irked Clarke a little; she was hindering more than she helped the hunt for food, but it was hard to blame her. For someone who had only ever seen maybe two or three rooms in her life, the vast open space in front of her, the rich greens and earthy browns, and the smells in the air must have been impossible to resist.

Something on the ground caught Clarke’s eye, and she kneeled down closer to make sure of what she was seeing. “Finn, come take a look at this.”

He stooped to her level, following her line of sight. They had been walking for maybe a couple of hours now, and in all that time they hadn’t seen a track like this. He examined the ground, fingers barely grazing the outline of the single print. “There shouldn’t be any bipedal animals in this area.”

“Maybe it was one of the other kids? They could have come out here.” Wells offered, peering over their shoulders.

Finn shook his head. “The print’s too old for that; the dirt has hardened.”

“I guess we don’t know as much about the ground as we thought.” Clarke ran through several scenarios in her head, none of them good. Who knows what effect the radiation had had on the wildlife, or if any animals they found would even be safe to eat? The possibility of mutated fauna filled her head like a fog, her mind trawling through old pictures of animals and imagining their metamorphosis into grotesque abstractions of their original forms. A deer with a second face growing out of its neck like a tumour; bears with acidic venom dripping from their teeth; alligators that blend in with their surroundings like a chameleon, lying in wait to strike.

“Oh! What if it’s, um…” Octavia had made her way over to see what all the fuss was about, and seemed to be searching for a word, snapping her fingers as she thought. “a- a monkey? Is that the right word?”

“Could be,” Finn humoured her. “But like I said, shouldn’t be any bipedal animals here.”

Octavia didn’t seem fazed. “Hmm, well I kinda skipped Earth Skills for my entire life, so…” she trailed off, head snapping up as she noticed something. She focused her sight on an area to their left, and started speeding in that direction without a word.

“Octavia!” Clarke called after her, following her path. This girl obviously needed some practice with her communication skills. Flighty with her thoughts, she never seemed to focus on one thing for any length of time, but maybe that could be explained away by overstimulation from the change of setting. Naïve from her time spent away from people, Clarke supposed Octavia would soon learn that not everyone is what they seem on the surface. But underneath the giddy surface she herself sometimes fronted, Clarke knew there was also a burgeoning independence. She saw some of that when she stood up to Bellamy, and if Octavia wanted to survive down here, she’d have to snap out of her daydream and pull herself together. As for speed and agility though, she seemed to have that covered.

Clarke struggled to keep up with the brunette as she lithely darted between trees and navigated the hills and dips of the terrain, leaping over small rocky outcroppings where necessary. Before anyone rolled an ankle, though, Octavia stopped as she overlooked a drop in the valley. “I knew I heard something!” She shouted back to the group with a bright laugh, and when Clarke reached her side, she lost her breath.

She heard it before she saw it, but didn’t make the connection until the waterfall was in front of her. Water cascaded into a plunge pool from an overhang about ten feet high, coming down steadily, giving it a glass-like quality. A small stream trickled away after it, chasing the slope down to their right. The rocks around them were darkened by the spray, some slick with moss, and the way the light filtered through the trees made the whole space look magical; like there might be some kind of secret doorway behind the waterfall.

“Looks like we don’t have to rely on rainwater now.” Wells said with a smile when he caught up, beaming at everyone.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Octavia looked back to them with a smile Clarke had seen on Bellamy’s face enough times to know what it meant.

As she shimmied off her trousers, Clarke protested. “There’s no time for that, we haven’t even found any food yet.” She looked to Wells and Finn for support. “We fill up our water bottles and then we keep moving.”

Much to Clarke’s exasperation, Octavia got in the water anyway, but she decided to ignore her and go about filling up her makeshift bottle. She figured that dealing with Octavia was like handling a misbehaving child; if you stop giving them attention, they’ll get bored with it soon enough. The wristband got in the way slightly as she kneeled down by the water, but it was manageable. Maybe if they were designed with all the resources Earth had before the bombs, they would have been sleeker, but materials on the Ark were limited. Her mother did an excellent job with the tools she’d been given, and they were sending valuable information back to the Ark through the sensors, and she took solace in knowing that they wouldn’t be alone on the ground for long; as soon as they realised Earth was survivable, they would start sending more Exodus ships.

Lost in her thoughts and tuning out the sound of Octavia playing in the falls, she didn’t hear the stealthy approach behind her until a pair of hands had already pushed her in to the pool. Shocked by the bracing cold, she whipped around quickly to see who to blame, and found Finn looking half apologetic, and half trying to hold back laughter. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got to enjoy the little things, Princess.”

Too stubborn to admit the cool water provided some relief from the humidity, she swam back in silence to where Finn was offering his hand. She reached out for him, and at the last second, yanked him into the water with all her might instead of allowing him to pull her up. With a satisfying splash, he landed face first in the spot she had been moments ago. “Sorry, Spacewalker,” she said when he surfaced. “Got to enjoy the little things.”

By the time she was out of the water and trying to dry off, it seemed that Octavia had had her fill of the water too, putting her clothes back on, ready for the next adventure. Finn was trudging out of the plunge pool too, and Wells had seemingly just been watching the chaos in front of him. She wrung out her clothes a little more, until no matter how much she squeezed, no more water came up to greet her. The dark splotches on her forest green henley remained, though, and she examined the sky, hoping the sun was strong enough to take care of the rest. Bright enough, she supposed, and warmth still clung to the air, but she wasn’t sure how long they would have until night fell. The light blue that had filled the expanse above her earlier in the day had faded some, and there was a strange haze to the sky, like the swirling of colours on a paint palette. Blues mixed at the edges with pinks and oranges, and it occurred to Clarke that this was what the evening sky looked like from Earth. The Ark did its best to mimic natural light levels through the day in an attempt to keep everyone’s circadian rhythm in check, but it couldn’t in a million years compare to the real thing.

She must have been staring for a while, because Wells joined her, craning his head up too. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Clarke said lamely, and felt the need to elaborate. “I mean, I’ve seen pictures, painted it, even, but… _wow_.”

“We should call it a day,” Finn called out to them. “Sun’s getting low, we can set up some snares on the way back to the dropship.”

“Really?” Octavia sighed. “But we haven’t found anything yet.”

Clarke scoffed under her breath. “ _Maybe if we didn’t stop to smell the flowers every other minute_ ,”

Wells was polite enough to fake a cough, covering up her disdain, before replying to Octavia. “We found clean water, that’s not nothing.”

Soon enough, they fell back into an easy rhythm as they made the hike back to the dropship. Finn had marked out the trail as they went, breaking obvious branches and disturbing soil, making marks on trees – anything he could to show what direction was home. In his pack were bits of twine, probably strings from the parachutes deployed by the dropship on landing. The three of them listened intently as he explained how to set up a snare. Even if you were empty handed, there were certain plants sturdy enough to use in an emergency; the main thing was picking your location well. It had to be somewhere animals passed by often, usually signalled by scuff marks, scratches, droppings, and tracks. They were stringent with where they placed their snares; with limited resources, they couldn’t afford to just place them randomly and hope for the best. In all, they made six snares, and decided it best to leave them overnight. In the morning, they would follow the trail again, and check for any catches before resetting the traps. It wouldn’t land them any big game like deer, but a rabbit or a squirrel was much better than just the nuts and berries they had picked from plants as they walked. Finn was pretty certain they were safe, but he wanted to talk with someone from Farm Station before he staked their lives on it.

The journey felt faster on the way back, perhaps because they knew they were going. The sun was starting to hide behind the horizon by the time they approached the dropship, and the sky was a masterpiece, enough to move the most indifferent man to tears. Where there had been the dusky oranges and pinks of Clarke’s first sunset, there was now a deep blue, so dark it was almost black. Bright twinkling spots of white filled the sky; not _scattered_ , that seemed too careless a word, like it had been accidental. Instead, the stars seemed to have been placed so deliberately, so purposefully, creating the constellations people used to use to track their position in relation to the universe around them. It made her feel so small. It occurred to Clarke that the Ark was up there too, and perhaps at this very moment, her mother was gazing out of a window, looking down towards Earth. Her hand found her wristband, the lifeline that tethered her to her last remaining family member, proof that Earth was survivable. _Come down,_ she thought like a prayer. _Come home._

A warm orange glow broke through the treeline, coming from the clearing they called home. As they got closer, she realised there were a few campfires burning throughout the grounds, and some of the delinquents were sitting around them to keep warm. Scattered laughter and a constant low roar of chatter filled her ears, and Clarke felt like the first day of class, trying to decide where to sit. Scanning the environment, she noticed the older Blake thankfully absent from the crowds, and her gut twisted a little. He was probably off screwing some girl who didn’t know better, not that it bothered Clarke. It just made her feel sick.

Finn stopped beside her. “Now would be a good time to make some friends, Princess.”

She stiffened a little at that, unsure how the nickname made her feel when it was falling from his lips. Luckily, she didn’t need to respond, because he was already making his way to the largest bonfire in the centre of the camp, beckoning her to follow. Camp felt like the right word now; she could see makeshift tents set up with the debris from the landing. At least something productive got done while she was gone.

“I’ll see if I can get a tent for us,” Wells said. “You should go.” He nodded in Finn’s direction, watching as he perched on a log by the fire with Octavia, cracking a joke that made the others laugh. She flashed him a smile that was supposed to be reassuring, but probably looked more nervous than anything else.

Finn snapped his fingers as she sat down, like he was remembering something. “Oh, Clarke – you got those berries we picked?”

“Uh,” Clarke patted her pockets, finding the lumps of fruit and taking them out to offer to him. “Yeah, here.”

He shook his head and gestured to one of the two boys Octavia had been speaking to before they had left the camp; it seemed they came as a package deal, sitting right next to each other. “Not me, show Monty,” the shorter boy’s head perked up. “You’re Farm Station, right?”

Monty accepted the berries from Clarke and inspected them in the firelight. He took one and rolled it around in his fingers. Small, but with a vivid blue Clarke would have loved to paint with if she had the chance. He broke one open with his fingertips without much force – the fruit was fairly soft – and it revealed a deep purplish red that stained his skin. He held it to his nose and sniffed before placing a tentative finger in his mouth. Clarke watched as he processed the taste, a moment’s hesitation before an excited smile graced his features. “Blueberries,” Monty said. “I think.”

“You have some of this yet?” Monty’s other half held a silvery metal hip flask out to Clarke.

“How’d you get it?”

“Stole it from one of the guards when they were loading us up. I figure we need it more than they do.”

“How’d _he_ get it?”

The boy shrugged. “Ever heard of a black market?”

Clarke eyed it suspiciously, feeling a little uneasy. She’d never been drunk before, never even had a sip of alcohol, but recognised the smell as she gingerly sniffed the clear liquid the boy was holding under her nose. It smelled potent, like the rubbing alcohol they used in the medical bay, and the idea of black-market booze didn’t sit right with her.

Her indecision must have taken a little too long, because Octavia interrupted. “If you won’t, I will. Pass it here, Jasper.” She leaned over to reach for the flask, strands of her hair brushing Clarke’s face as she moved. As she settled back with a sigh, she prepared to take a sip, when a noise behind her made her jump.

“Not a chance, O.”

Clarke turned to see Bellamy a few feet away, clearly having heard the whole thing. Seemed like he had a sheen of sweat on him, and despite the drop in temperature, his Guard jacket was hanging off his arm, and his hands were on his hips in some kind of power pose. Clarke knew he always ran a little hot, but not _that_ hot. She might have assumed he’d been working out, but his shirt was dirty, like he’d wiped muddy hands on them or something. It was then that she noticed Wells beside him, giving Bellamy a strange look. It occurred to her from their positions that they could have been having a conversation, but she shook the thought out of her head. It didn’t make sense; they had nothing to say to each other.

Snapping her back to reality, Octavia made an annoyed groan. “Why not?”

“You’re too young,” He said. “Not to mention you’ve never been drunk before, so you don’t know what effect it’ll have on you. It’s dangerous.”

For whatever reason, Clarke’s blood was boiling. She took the flask from Octavia’s hands, looked Bellamy directly in the eyes, and took a sizeable swig. A sharp, burning sensation rippled down her throat, and she imagined it was something like swallowing glass coated in rocket fuel. She nearly coughed it back up immediately, but her will to keep a straight face won out, and she shot him a sickly-sweet smile in silent defiance.

While Bellamy stared her down, Jasper let out a low whistle. “Not bad for a girl from Alpha Station, that shit is _strong_. Give me and Monty a couple weeks and we’ll make moonshine.”

“It’s a little easier on the palate.” Monty finished his thought, and Clarke got the impression the two of them did that a lot. Maybe they even shared a brain.

“Well, hey,” Jasper said as Wells and Bellamy made their way over, though notably maintaining a distance of a few feet between them while they walked. “Since we’re all getting to know each other, why don’t we play a game?”

Bellamy took a seat on the opposite side to Clarke, and Octavia scoffed and walked away. He got up to go after her, and to Clarke’s surprise, Wells caught his arm. Perhaps even more surprisingly, Bellamy didn’t shake him off, and allowed him to say something she barely caught. “Give her some space. The more you latch on, the more she’ll push you away.”

“That a fact?” Bellamy replied with some bite, but sat down.

“Never have I ever?” Monty suggested, oblivious to the conversation.

Finn chucked a blueberry in his mouth, satisfied they weren’t poisonous. “How do you play?”

“We go around the circle, saying things we’ve never done. If anyone else has done it, they take a sip.” Monty’s brow furrowed for a moment. “Usually everyone’s supposed to have their own drink, but I guess we can share.”

Jasper snatched the flask back and peered into it dramatically. “Might have to be a short game. I’ll start: never have I ever… used an illegal substance.”

“It’s supposed to be something you _haven’t_ done, genius.” Monty nudged him.

“My bad, my bad. Okay,” He cleared his throat. “Never have I ever forgotten to lock up our stash one day and gotten me and my best friend arrested.”

Monty took the flask with a pout. “I said I was sorry.”

“Worked out okay, didn’t it?” Jasper shrugged as Monty took a sip.

“Never have I ever stolen something.”

A few of the kids Clarke didn’t recognise gestured for the flask, which wasn’t unexpected. Petty theft was the reason most of the kids in Skybox had ended up there. The next few rounds were spent on the reasons everyone got arrested, which included few surprises. Aside from theft, there was some assault, possession, and one kid who punched the Guard who arrested his mom. Clarke found it hard to blame him for that.

“What about you?” One of the girls on another log said. What was her name? Some kind of animal… Fox? “What are you in for?”

It took a moment for Clarke to realise the girl was speaking to her, but she shook her head with a tight smile. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It must be pretty bad, right? Weren’t you in solitary the whole time?” Jasper asked, likely innocently, but Monty kicked him.

A hush of muttered whispers broke out in the group, and Clarke knew they were whispering about her. The last thing she needed was to alienate herself in this camp, but she couldn’t bear to bring up her arrest. Too many bad memories, too many unanswered questions, too many unresolved feelings. She already felt outnumbered here; she knew she had a more privileged upbringing than most, and there was clearly some resentment there. Now with the rumour mill, she couldn’t imagine making any allies at this rate.

Someone cleared their throat with intention and the whispers stopped. “Never have I ever wasted oxygen.”

She knew Bellamy had done that for her, taken the attention away and changed the topic. Finn considered the drink, then sipped in silence, and the look on Bellamy’s face was clear: the speculation about Clarke was over. Still, with dissonance brewing and liquid courage taking effect, she couldn’t help herself. “Don’t you do that every time you speak?”

He didn’t take the bait. So, when Finn gestured for her to continue the game, she pushed it further. “Never have I ever… lied about loving someone and sacrificed a good man’s life just so I could further my career.”

If it was quiet before, it was dead silent now. Even the fire seemed to stop crackling; the forest around them holding its breath as it waited for a response. Bellamy absorbed that for a moment, and Clarke could have sworn she saw a flicker of hurt on his face. Good. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Give me another explanation.”

His jaw clenched, and he balled his hands up into fists. No response.

“That’s what I thought.” Clarke’s throat sounded raw. “I’m done with this. Wells?”

She stood, and Wells followed her as she left the fireside. He let her lead the way until they were out of sight of the campfire, at which point she realised she didn’t know where she was going. She stopped and looked at him half-apologetically and half-pleading.

“Tent’s behind the dropship.” He answered her unspoken question. Wells had a way of getting inside people’s heads, like he knew what someone was thinking before even they did; always so perceptive. “What was that about back there?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” retorted Clarke. “You and Bellamy seemed pretty friendly.”

“Bumped into him when I was looking for a tent.”

Clarke scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “And, what, you two were just shooting the breeze? Like old times?”

Wells let out a small breath and took a step towards the dropship. “I want to show you something.”

“What?”

He shot her a look. “Please, just trust me.”

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she followed him as he made way for the area behind the dropship. At first, she thought he was taking her to the tent he’d picked, but the further away they got, the less plausible that seemed. There was a gap in the trees up ahead, and it seemed like that was where he was leading her. The moonlight lit their way; the haze of the campfires no longer finding their skin. Clarke had always been pale, but now she looked milky-white under the moon. It was peaceful here. Beautiful.

Wells continued through the gap in the trees, taking them to a small meadow. Wildflowers bloomed here, grass halfway up to her knees, but there was something calming about this place. They stopped here, and Wells pointed a finger to the ground ahead. “You see that?”

Two mounds of dirt recently disturbed. Big, big enough for… “Are these- are these graves?”

“The two boys from the dropship.” Wells nodded.

“You did this?” She scanned him for signs of the exertion it must have taken to dig two full-sized graves, and wondered how he managed to do it so quickly.

“Not me. Bellamy.”

A switch flipped in her memory, and a flash of his muddy clothes ran through her mind. The sweat on his brow, the heat emanating from his body.

“We crossed paths when he was coming back. I asked why he was carrying clothes; thought he might have taken them from someone. So, he showed me this.” It made sense for him to strip the clothes and shoes from the bodies, she supposed. They could hardly afford to be picky or wasteful here. “He didn’t even have a real shovel, Clarke. Just scrap from the dropship and a broken branch. It must have taken hours… and he did it alone. So, I asked him why bother? He said we’re not on the Ark anymore, so we do things right this time. Then I asked him why he was down here anyway, why risk dying on an irradiated planet with a bunch of teenagers...”

Wells trailed off and glanced at Clarke, who had taken her eyes from the graves to meet his.

“He said, ‘I’m here for the same reason you are’ and walked back to camp. Told Miller to find me a tent, and then headed for the fire.”

Something about this smelled wrong to Clarke. She couldn’t reconcile the Bellamy she knew he was with the Bellamy he was pretending to be down here. He was up to something, hiding something from everyone. It wouldn’t be the first time he pulled the wool over her eyes, but she wasn’t going to fall for the same trick twice. No matter what act he put on down here, she was determined to see right through it. “So a few hours of community service erases what he did to me? To my family?”

“No,” Wells conceded with a sigh, his head hanging low. “No, it doesn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm, mixed messages from Bellamy... what do we think? always nice to see a few more of the delinquents though, i miss the season one dynamics. thank you so much for all of your kudos and comments, it means the world to me!


	3. A Smile That Dripped Venom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***SHOW SPOILERS AHEAD*** 
> 
> hi loves. i know last night's episode has been really rough for a lot of people, and that in the show at least, bellarke is dead. if you need to take time away from the fandom for your mental health, or even leave completely, please know that no one will judge you for that. if you feel like you can't read bellarke fics anymore, of course that's fine too. the way i see it, fics can be a wonderful escape from what happens on the show, and a way to express yourself and keep your imagination and creativity alive. i'm going to keep writing and reading for as long as i feel a drive, and there is absolutely no pressure for anyone to keep reading if you feel unable.
> 
> that said, if you do still want to persevere, i'm right here with you, and if this eases the pain even a little, that would make me immeasurably happy. keep your chin up against the hate, stay respectful of others, and above all, be well, and be kind. love you all so much ❤️

The tent didn’t offer much in the way of protection from the elements, but it was better than nothing. Earth Skills had taught her the important things for future generations to know when the Ark came down to the ground, but she always thought of it as knowledge she would only pass down to her children some day, never imagining she would need to use it herself. Clarke could still picture Pike standing in front of the students, delivering a lecture on the importance of distinguishing edible mushrooms from poisonous ones, and though she had always been a diligent student, those lessons never quite held her interest like medical classes did. Still, she worked hard to recall everything Pike had taught her, and she knew objectively that when the sun went down, the temperature on Earth dropped. But hearing someone say it to you and actually experiencing it were two very different things. With only the clothes on her back and whatever body heat Wells was providing from his proximity wasn’t enough to overpower the wind whipping at the thin fabric separating them from the gale.

That was another new experience – wind. The Ark had recirculated air, with vents that, if you concentrated hard enough, you might be able to feel air movement if you stood close. Here it was a force of nature. She hadn’t anticipated how loud it would be as it continued its assault on the tent, preventing either of them from settling into sleep. Wells was awake, she could tell by the way he was shifting, but she didn’t bother to look. Instead, her mind wandered to anywhere but here, thinking about how the other delinquents were faring with the cold. Her thoughts fell to Finn, and she wondered if anyone was keeping _his_ tent warm. The way he carried himself, he oozed confidence, and Clarke found the thought of him with someone unsettling. It shouldn’t, of course, she had no right to think like that, but she supposed she enjoyed his flirting after all, and was feeling its absence now. Surprisingly, her thoughts drifted to Octavia next. She was so young, so naïve, and she hoped no one had taken advantage of that innocence. Her only crime was really no crime at all, and Clarke couldn’t help but feel a growing attachment to the girl. As much as she irritated her sometimes, the way she stood up to Bellamy showed there was a tough, independent spirit under the surface. With the right guidance, she could be a real asset to the group. She hadn’t spent quite enough time to feel the other kids out yet, but Monty and Jasper seemed friendly. Monty’s brains would certainly be crucial if they wanted to survive for any length of time down here, and Jasper had a keen mind for chemistry.

Another whip of wind banished the thoughts from her head, and she pulled her father’s jacket tighter around her. Instinctively, she buried her nose into it, taking in its scent. Of course, the fabric had long since lost the smell of her dad, that blend of fresh soap and sweetness and warmth. There weren’t many things on the Ark that had a scent as such; the original astronauts weren’t bringing aftershave on board after all, but Clarke knew her father’s smell as surely as she knew the sky was blue and the Earth was round. The day that his jacket stopped smelling like him was an old wound ripped open, stitches torn, skin burst. It was like he had died all over again, and Clarke had faked an illness so Abby would come to her cell. She had sobbed into her mother’s arms that night, no doubt soaking through her scrub top as she held her, saying nothing, just stroking her hair and softly soothing her. Wells had been a godsend too before Clarke got locked up, but he kept his distance at first, scared Clarke would blame him for his father’s actions, but of course she could never do that to her oldest friend. He was as close to a brother as anyone had in the Ark – well, _almost_ anyone – and they loved each other like family, and even now he was helping to keep her grounded, whether he knew it or not. To lose a family member is to lose a part of yourself; it is living as a fragment, your mind forever teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting absently for some external circumstance to send it one way or the other. Courtesy of the Ark Guards, she had been knocked backwards into a solitary cell in the Skybox for her woes, a rare punishment for the crime of knowing too much. Knowledge was power, and thus, for those in control, preventing certain knowledge getting out was equally important.

She shut her eyes and tried to think of something else. The wind was playing tricks with her head now, she almost thought she heard someone say her name. Checking her father’s watch, she saw it was a little after midnight, with a long time to go before the sun came out again. It was fall, which was a transitional season of sorts. The nights would get longer, and the weather harsher until winter came in full force. If they were struggling this badly now, she dreaded to think what might happen when the snow set in.

Wells kicked her softly. “Aren’t you gonna see who that is?”

“What?”

“Someone’s been calling your name.”

As if to emphasise his point, she heard it again, closer this time. It was a male voice, she could tell that much now, but it wasn’t one she recognised. With an uneasy glance at Wells, she climbed around him to stick her head out of the opening. A lean but muscular boy in a beanie was outside, looking around for her. His back was to her now, and she could see from his stance that he was shouting, but the wind stole the words away before they reached her ears.

“That’s Miller,” Wells had appeared by her side. “He’s one of Bellamy’s guys.”

Clarke thinned her lips into a line. Miller had turned now, and she had a better look at his expression. He looked… desperate. Almost scared. Something must be really wrong if Bellamy was going to her for help. Apprehension filled her features before she steeled herself, giving Wells a reassuring look. “Get some sleep, I’ll be back soon.”

Before he could protest, she stepped outside into the cold, a blast of air hitting her like a slap, and she called out to the boy. “Miller?”

He didn’t hear her at first, so she jogged up to him, forcing her muscles to create some energy. “What’s going on?”

Miller looked relieved when she approached and didn’t waste time with niceties. “Bellamy said you were a medical apprentice.”

Clarke nodded.

“It’s Octavia. She’s hurt pretty bad, and we don’t know-”

“Where is she?” Clarke cut him off.

“They’re taking her to the dropship.” Miller started off in that direction, and Clarke was hot on his heels. What kind of mess could Octavia possibly have gotten into already? She’d only known the girl for less than a day and yet the thought didn’t entirely surprise her. Clarke ran through a couple of scenarios in her head, but none of them matched what she was met with when she heard the commotion.

The wind was starting to settle, and now, instead of masking them, it carried the screams towards her. This was no drunken stumble; this was fear and pain and panic. Clarke searched for the source and found a swarm of bodies emerging from the woods carrying an injured Octavia; Finn, Bellamy, and Jasper among them. What was most alarming, though, was the arrow sticking out of her leg.

“Bring her here!” Clarke shouted over to them and sprinted to the dropship. Inside, she found a surface that would do as a makeshift examination table and cleared it swiftly with a sweep of her arm, sending clutter scattering onto the floor. The noise startled the delinquents taking shelter indoors, but she paid them no mind; there was no time. No sooner had she cleared the table than the group carrying Octavia had arrived, and Clarke went on autopilot. “What happened?”

“She snuck out a while ago, we heard her scream,” Finn explained while Clarke examined the wound, watching as she studied the arrow. “Bellamy wouldn’t let me take it out.”

She glanced up briefly, not looking for Finn, but for Bellamy. He looked drained of all colour; dark curls stuck to his face with sweat. To anyone else in the room, it might seem like he was holding it together, but Clarke knew his features too well. The darting eyes, uncertain expression, the subtle shaking in his hands, and worst of all, the barely hidden fear; underneath the mask, the boy was crumbling.

“No, that was the right call.” It was as close a thing to reassurance she could offer him in the moment, and the trembling in his hands stilled. Her attention was now entirely with Octavia’s injuries, but the growing crowd around her was suffocating. To no one in particular, she gave an order. “Get these people out.”

Bellamy jumped at the opportunity, the chance to have some semblance of control over the situation. Though she tuned out his words, the authoritative tone was undeniable, even as Clarke studied the wound. The noise of boots on metal surrounded her as people scurried out, but she kept her focus on Octavia’s leg. Clarke couldn’t tell the extent of the bleeding, but she wanted to err on the side of caution. The arrow would provide some pressure internally, and Clarke pushed down hard with her hands just above the site. Octavia whimpered, and Bellamy’s head whipped around so fast she swore she heard it break the sound barrier.

“I need a clean cloth and a stick to make a tourniquet, short, but thick enough that it won’t snap.” Clarke addressed Finn, who took off without another word.

“I have a belt?” Jasper offered, but Clarke shook her head.

“Cloth and stick is better. I could use some more of that alcohol, though.”

“Yeah – uh, I’ll see what I can find,” He nodded and darted for the exit.

By then, it just Miller and Bellamy were left in the room, and Clarke felt more comfortable talking to Octavia now in the relative privacy. “Octavia, can you tell me what happened?”

Clarke was doing a few things here. First, it would give her the specifics of the events leading up to her injury – any small detail could help guide her next move, and it could tell her if she was hurt anywhere else. If Octavia couldn’t remember anything, it could be a sign of a head injury. Secondly, if Octavia could speak, Clarke could keep a better eye on how conscious she was and monitoring her vital signs would be easier. Finally, it wasn’t lost on her that the arrow wasn’t something fashioned in a hurry. This was wood filed down smoothly by a knife; fletching feathers attached to the end. She couldn’t see the tip, as it was buried into Octavia’s leg, but even what she _could_ see told her the most worrying thing: it would have taken time and effort to make this arrow. Whoever made this knew they wanted to hurt someone. This was premeditated.

“I just wanted to help,” She muttered weakly. “I thought… I thought-”

Octavia cut off as she winced in pain, and Clarke kept her hands firmly pressed on the wound but could see her complexion was much paler than her normal skin tone; she’d lost blood. Finn re-entered the dropship just then and brought Clarke the cloth and a short but sturdy twig. Perfect. As Clarke busied herself with fitting the tourniquet, she noticed Bellamy crouching down by Octavia’s head, holding her hand and murmuring reassurances into her ear. Clarke tied the cloth around her leg and twisted the twig tight before securing it, and Octavia screamed in pain.

Bellamy whipped his head up to face Clarke. “What did you do?” He reached over and gripped her wrist. “Stop, she’s in pain!”

Her eyes flickered to his hand on hers, and she did a double take. _No wristband?_ She’d deal with that later. Jerking her hand out of his grasp, she explained. “I can’t, Bellamy, this is how we stop the bleeding. It’s supposed to hurt. We don’t have the Ark’s resources right now, so we have to do it the old-fashioned way. Look,” she urged him, pointing to the wound. “no bleeding.”

Perhaps ‘soothed’ wasn’t the right word, but Bellamy seemed as settled as he could be under the circumstances, his sister still writing in pain underneath him. He moved back to his position by her head, and Clarke was free to use her hands. As she took Octavia’s pulse, she prompted her again. “Octavia, you were telling me what happened.”

“I thought… if I brought food-” she grunted through the pain.

“The snares,” Finn realised. “We found her near the snares.”

“I got it!” A loud voice from outside carried through to the dropship. “I got it!” Jasper stumbled through the doors at a sprint, his hand held high above him. “I got the booze.”

All eyes were on Clarke now as he handed her the flask of clear alcohol, and she could feel the panic rising as the pressure weighed on her. “Okay,” Clarke said, more to soothe herself than anyone else. “Okay, I’m gonna take the arrow out now.”

She cleaned her hands with the alcohol, then braced for Octavia’s scream as she sanitised the arrow and her wound. It was a piercing sound, but guttural too, as if there were layers to the pain, and Clarke supposed that was true – the sharp, sudden pain of the alcohol, and the longer, deep pain of the arrow still buried in her leg. “On three. One-” she pulled out the arrow then, discarding it to the floor immediately after assessing the depth of the red stains on the wood.

Octavia shrieked, and Bellamy protested. “I thought you said ‘on three’?”

Clarke quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t waste time replying. In her peripheral vision, she was aware of Miller moving to inspect the arrow, but she was keeping her eyes on the wound. It didn’t look deep, and the arrow didn’t have much blood on it. She doubted a major artery was hit and decided to test that theory. “I need some clean cloth.”

The alcohol had washed away the bloodstains on Octavia’s skin, so as Clarke loosened the tourniquet bit by bit, and she could see the wound much better. The puncture hadn’t torn much at her skin, so she wouldn’t need stitches, and as the tourniquet came undone, only very minimal bleeding came through. Someone handed her enough cloth to make a bandage, and she applied it tight enough to compress the wound, but not tight enough to hurt. Once satisfied, she came to Octavia’s head and spoke to her. “Hey, you’re doing fine. You’ve lost some blood and you’ve had a big shock, but your leg is okay. I want to keep you here overnight so I can keep an eye on you, but what you need right now is rest. Can you do that for me?” Clarke wasn’t worried so much about the wound itself than she was about the risk of infection, which would be easy to spot but not so easy to treat without medicine.

Octavia nodded, and her eyelids drooped. She must have been exhausted.

“Good. You can go to sleep; I’ll be right here.” She stroked Octavia’s hair and watched as her eyelids fluttered, falling easily into a hopefully peaceful sleep. When she felt it was safe enough to make noise, she looked to Bellamy, lost in his sister’s features, tracking her every breath. “She needs some space to rest.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He murmured, not glancing away from Octavia’s face.

Clarke knew better than to argue. He wasn’t trying to fight the point; his mind was already made up. Seemed that stubbornness ran strong in the Blake family. Instead, she met Finn’s gaze as he eyed her carefully, asking an unspoken question. _Are you gonna be alright?_ She gave him a quick nod, and he patted Jasper on the back as he guided him out.

Miller hovered a little while longer, still holding the arrow, rolling it between his fingers. “We need to talk about this.”

“We will,” Bellamy replied. “In the morning.”

Miller sucked in his cheek a little, clearly unhappy with the decision, but he didn’t make an issue of it. Wordlessly, he offered Clarke the arrow and gave her a meaningful look. The looming threat of who shot the arrow wasn’t lost on her, and she appreciated the olive branch of trust from one of ‘Bellamy’s guys’, as Wells had put it. She opened her palm for it, and he placed it there, pressing down on her hand longer and harder than strictly necessary. It wasn’t threatening, and it certainly wasn’t romantic, either. Clarke knew it was to convey the gravity of the situation. She gave him a confirmatory nod, and he left them be. Octavia was stable, but she would keep checking on her periodically through the night. For now, though, Clarke was just trying not to think about having to spend a night this close to Bellamy.

As a distraction, she tried to examine the arrow further, like a cop looking for clues. She always loved the old detective stories in the books and films left by the Ark’s original inhabitants, and she could practically quote them now from memory. Nonetheless, however hard she tried to focus, she always found her attention drifting to Bellamy. He had pulled up a seat on the other side of Octavia, holding her hand in his. His eyebrows were furrowed in the same way they did when he was worrying about something, and he seemed fixated with the rhythm of Octavia’s breaths, like he was afraid each one might be her last. If he moved at all, he moved so slowly Clarke didn’t catch it. By the third time she had checked Octavia’s vitals, his stillness was beginning to concern her.

“Bellamy?” The sound sliced raggedly through the silence, her voice cracking from disuse. She was quiet enough not to rouse Octavia, but loud enough that he definitely heard her. So, she waited a moment for a response, but after a pause that felt like a lifetime, it became apparent he wouldn’t give her one. “Bellamy, you need sleep.”

This time, he held her gaze. “So do you. Are you gonna turn in for the night any time soon?” Her bottom lip jutted out as she considered his question. Of course, there was no way she was leaving Octavia’s side tonight, and of course he wouldn’t either. Bellamy took her silence as a point proven. “Didn’t think so.”

His eyes fell back to his sister, and Clarke studied him in turn. Before coming down to Earth, the last time she saw him was on the worst day of her life. She could feel the hatred burning in her from somewhere deep in her core, an ugly emotion, one that twisted people at their roots and rotted them from the inside out. She closed her eyes for a moment, blocking out his figure from her vision. This wouldn’t help anyone. She refused to be so consumed by her own thoughts that she couldn’t do her job. Abby had taught her from a young age that part of being a healer is to leave your feelings at the door, because your worst enemy is just as deserving of your help as your best friend. Of course, Octavia wasn’t the problem, but the same logic applied. Caring for the family was just as important as caring for the patient. So, she did her best to swallow her anger and tried to reconcile this Bellamy with the Bellamy she once loved. It had been over a year now, and at first glance she thought nothing had changed. But now, she could see the subtle differences in his shape. His shoulders looked broader, and his hair was longer. There were lines in his face now, creases in his forehead and bags under his eyes, though that could just be because of Octavia. All this time, he had kept her hidden from the Ark, from his friends, from _her_ , and now here he was, clinging onto her hand like a scared little boy.

“She’s not going to die,” Clarke said softly, in the way she might have spoken to him on the Ark. She wouldn’t have realised he heard her if not for the way he stiffened ever so slightly. “Seriously, Bellamy, I’ve got her. You should get some rest.”

“I can’t leave her. If you had a sibling you’d understand.”

That stung Clarke like a needle to her heart, and ice crystallised in her veins, freezing out any semblance of kindness she had left. “I had a father.”

Bellamy’s eyes snapped shut and he rubbed his temples, realising what he’d done. “I said I was sorry, Clarke. I don’t know what you want from me.”

She scoffed. “Sorry doesn’t bring him back. Besides, you don’t mean a single word you say.” At his sharp look, she elaborated. “Your word means nothing to me. I’m still waiting for you to keep that promise you made him. Hoping you’ll hold up your end.”

“What promise?”

She faced him with a smile that dripped venom as she echoed the words he once said at their dinner table. “ _If I hurt her, I’ll float myself.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed chapter 3! keep spreading love and positivity, and I'll see you next time x


	4. Watch As They Choke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so how are we all feeling?? does it feel real yet? i'm convincing myself that if i don't watch season 7, it never happened. show bellamy? i don't know him. i only know fic bellamy.
> 
> and with that, here's a big flashback chapter exploring what happened on the ark that made clarke hate bellamy so much. hope you enjoy!

_In medical classes, Clarke learned a million different ways a person could die, and a million different ways to put their body back together. And, on the occasions that a person couldn’t be fixed, she learned the kindest way to kill someone. First, ease their pain. Hold their hand. Offer gentle reassurances whispered into their ear. Let their loved ones say goodbye. Give them some drugs that would let them drift slowly into a peaceful sleep, then once they were settled, inject them with medication that would stop their heart. It had always been her least favourite part of practicing medicine on the Ark, one of the many callous ways to save oxygen: once your death became inevitable, you would have to be gently pushed over the edge. She only thought about death when she had to, and never, not once, had she ever considered what the most excruciating way to kill someone might be until the day her father died._

**_THREE_ **

_“It’s not right, Abby!”_

_Clarke’s parents were arguing. It didn’t happen often, and she hadn’t heard them raise their voices at each other like this since she was a child. In the grand scheme of things, she was very lucky to have two parents who loved each other as entirely as Jake and Abby did; a lot of kids her age had just one parent, or two trapped in a loveless marriage if they were lucky. The one-child rule kept a lot of incompatible couples together, for no reason other than the fact that this would be the only family they could ever create. But in a strange way, being part of a happy family made conflict so jarring that Clarke couldn’t fall asleep. The green glow of the digital clock by her bedside broke through the darkness to tell her it was 01:47, taunting her with the prospect of a sleepless night. Her parents’ voices were muffled by the walls, but she could make out a phrase here and there. They’d been a little colder with each other for a couple of days now, the tension building so slowly she hadn’t realised at first. Clarke remembered a fable she’d been taught in school when she was younger: a frog dropped suddenly into boiling water would jump out straight away, but if you placed him in a pot of tepid water and slowly turned up the heat, he would sit there and allow himself to boil alive. She used to scoff at the thought. How could the frog be so stupid? Surely at some point he would notice, and he would do something to get out of the pot! But now, steam was rising from Clarke’s family unit, and bubbles were beginning to burst through. She kicked the bedcovers off herself in frustration, metaphorical heat affecting her like the real thing, and she took a deep breath. She had to know what was going on._

_Quietly, she stood from her bed, toes curling in protest when they touched the cold metal of the floor. If her parents had any inkling she was eavesdropping, they would have stopped to soothe her, then they’d be more careful about making sure they weren’t overheard next time. She had one shot at this, and she needed to do it right. Lately, she’d taken to sleeping in Bellamy’s shirts, and it dwarfed her frame, though the smell of him surrounding her gave her the confidence to take the first steps towards her parents’ bedroom; made her feel like she wasn’t alone. As she tiptoed closer to their room, the voices became clearer. Hushed tones, still, but pressing her ear to the wall clarified the sounds._

_“There’s a right way and a wrong way to go about this, Jake. He’d understand - he’d do something! You know that!”_

_“Do I?” Jake had never said anything so cynical before; at least not that he’d let Clarke hear._

_“Think about Clarke.” Abby pleaded._

_Her father paused. Then, softly, “I am.”_

_She couldn’t see her mother’s face, but if the silence was any indication, Abby had broken. Light footsteps sounded from the room, not towards the door, but to somewhere within. When Abby spoke next, she was muffled, and Clarke realised they were probably hugging. “Don’t do anything drastic, okay? Just take a few days to think about it.”_

_Clarke could tell the argument was over. But what were they fighting about? And why were they thinking about her? And why would her dad do something drastic? She padded back to her bed, head swimming with possibilities, none of them ringing true. This felt bigger, more intense, more emotionally charged than any simple disagreements her parents had before over things like Clarke’s education, or household chores, even politics. Clarke laid down and stared at the ceiling, imagining the stars outside spinning around her like they would have if she had a skylight. Nothing made sense yet, and a seed of dread planted itself inside her. Something deeper was going on, and she was going to find out what it was._

**_TWO_ **

_The canteen was busy, but Clarke’s mind was busier. Her head was still spinning after last night, trying to figure out what had her parents so concerned. Breakfast this morning was much the same as usual – whatever plant and vegetable mush Farm Station produced, relying heavily on soybeans, with the occasional apple. Today was a good day for fruit, and normally Clarke would be excited to have a crisp red apple in front on her, but she found she wasn’t very hungry this morning._

_“Clarke? Are you listening?” Bellamy watched as she played with her food, her gaze locked on some distant spot on the wall while she thought._

_“Hm?” She snapped her attention back to him. “Uh – sorry, I’m just… not feeling great today.”_

_“Oh, are you sick?” He reaches over and placed his hand on her forehead as if to take her temperature. “You don’t look sick. What’s going on?”_

_“No, I’m fine, Bellamy, I just don’t have much of an appetite.”_

_He eyed her with concern, not quite believing her. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”_

_“I know,” Clarke smiled weakly. “But I don’t even know what the problem is yet.”_

_Bellamy pursed his lips at her cryptic comment but didn’t push further. Instead, he looked down at her plate, and the bright red apple on her tray. “You gonna eat that?”_

_“Go for it,” she shrugged, and a smile threatened at the corner of her mouth as he pocketed the apple. Any time he could get spare food he could, always saving it for later. His metabolism must be insane to keep his physique the way it was. “Sorry, what were you saying?”_

_“I was saying that things with the Guards are going well – I think I might be getting a promotion soon.”_

_“Oh, that’s amazing! How do you know?”_

_“Commander Shumway asked to see me, I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow after the evening shift. He picks a junior Guard every year to train up as an apprentice, and he hasn’t chosen anyone yet. Think it might be me.”_

_“How does he pick which Guard to train up?”_

_Bellamy shrugged. “No one’s really supposed to say; it’s kind of a secret, I guess. Rumour is he gives them a special task, and if they impress him, they get the spot.”_

_“Whoa,” Clarke leaned back. “That sounds intense. I hope you get it.”_

_“Me too.”_

**_ONE_ **

_Clarke was getting restless now. For the past couple of days, she’d been waiting for the right opportunity to sneak into her dad’s office in their home unit, but he kept the damn keys on him all the time, and at least one of her parents always seemed to be home. It wasn’t until this morning she managed to get some time alone, during Jake and Abby’s visit to the Jahas. Usually they’d bring her along to spend time with Wells, but not today. Abby said Wells was volunteering with the kindergarten classes, but he’d given that up a few months ago to focus on his own schoolwork. Clarke didn’t press, though, she got the impression her parents didn’t want her there, and she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to go through her dad’s office._

_She’d asked Bellamy to drop by before his shift, and she was getting anxious now. Her parents left a while ago; Go-Sci wasn’t far from Alpha Station, there was no way to know when they’d be back, and she needed as much time as she could get. Finally, she heard his tell-tale rap on the door, and she let him in._

_Bellamy greeted her as she ushered him in urgently. “Hey, Clarke, what’s going-”_

_“Can you pick a lock?”_

_He blinked. “Uh, yeah, why?”_

_“Good. I need to break into my dad’s office.”_

_“What?” He looked at her like she’d grown three heads. “Clarke, is everything okay? You’ve been acting…”_

_“Acting what?” she raised an eyebrow at him when he trailed off, daring him to continue._

_Bellamy squinted slightly, choosing his words carefully. “Different. Are you alright?”_

_“I will be when we get this door open.”_

_Hesitantly, he took a step towards the door in question and kneeled down to look at the lock. Nothing he hadn’t seen in Guard training before – same as a lot of the older locks on the Ark. Not the modern swipe-card access, but the metal lock and key style. Some might actually consider it more secure than the electronic ones, with all the tech prodigies on board. He moved to his tool belt on his uniform but paused and looked back up at Clarke. “No. Not without an explanation.”_

_Clarke let out a long breath and ran her fingers through her hair. “Something’s up with dad. Something big. When he’s not holed up in here, he’s arguing with mom about it, and they aren’t telling me anything. I have to know, Bellamy, I’m about to lose my mind.”_

_She wasn’t hiding her stress well, and Bellamy knew it. “Okay,” He sighed, and got to work. He’d done this in an exercise before, learning how to stealthily gain access through doors in case the Guard needed the element of surprise. Contrary to popular belief, going in guns blazing wasn’t always the best option, especially when you were on a floating hunk of metal in space. It took him just a minute or two to crack it, and with a wary look to Clarke, he swung the door open to reveal a mess of papers and diagrams sprawled over the desk and walls._

_“Whoa…” Bellamy remarked, letting Clarke step in first. “Does it always look like this?”_

_“No,” she moved confidently towards the desk, no time to beat around the bush. She dived headfirst into the papers, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “Help me look.”_

_“What exactly am I looking for?” He turned in a slow circle, taking in the scene._

_“Anything that looks important, recently used – something to explain what’s got him so concerned.”_

_“You think he’s hiding something?”_

_Clarke sighed, leafing through the papers. “Or the Council is.”_

_He gave her a concerned look, but she was too busy skimming through the documents in front of her to notice. While she worked through the stack on the desk, something caught Bellamy’s eye on the wall. “These are the blueprints of the oxygen system through the Ark.”_

_Clarke raised her head. “How do you know?”_

_“Everyone knows the pipes run through the walls, but only the senior engineers, mechanics, and the Guards know the path of the vents. They all come together in one main room in Mecha Station where all the pipes meet. I had my patrol there a couple months ago.”_

_She moved to stand next to him, studying the diagram. “Why’s he circled this area?” She pointed to a red pen mark around what looked like one of the junctions for the pipes in Mecha and searched for the name of the spot. “Sector 7?”_

_“I don’t know,” Bellamy peered in closer, examining for any clues. “Do you think this has something to do with it?”_

_He looked back to Clarke, but she was lost in her thoughts, muttering ‘Sector 7’ over and over again. “Sector 7, that was in the notes.” She spun on her heels, striding back to Jake’s desk, and Bellamy came with her. “Find anything you can about Sector 7.”_

_They both rifled through the top of the desk and the drawers, and when Bellamy went to open the bottom drawer, it didn’t budge. He crouched down to inspect it and found another old-fashioned lock in front of him. “A locked drawer in a locked room?” He glanced at Clarke, who was holding a sheet of paper with ‘Sector 7’ written at the top and underlined a few times._

_She nodded at him. “Open it.” While he got to work, she read the document in her hands. “This says Sector 7 is responsible for recirculating the oxygen, it helps convert some of the carbon dioxide back into breathable air.”_

_With a satisfying click, Bellamy successfully picked this lock too, and found a beaten-up leather-bound journal. He opened it, reading out key sections. “I noticed something wasn’t right last time I was down there – looked like it had been tampered with – but now I fear it’s worse than I originally thought. Had my guys run the numbers again – told them it was a hypothetical, an exercise; no sense getting them worried until it’s confirmed. Anyway, they came back the same as last time, so it’s certain now. Sector 7 has been non-functional for weeks. We still have the other sectors working as they should, but the structural damage is already done. Even if we replace the parts, we’ve lost too much air, and with the way the population is growing, the demands are too high to meet. We get three years, maximum. Three years before the oxygen runs out.”_

_The gravity of what Bellamy just said hit her like a ton of bricks. “So the Ark is dying? Dad found out we’re gonna run out of air?”_

_Bellamy dropped the journal, hands losing strength. “I… I don’t…”_

_“This is what he’s been keeping from me?”_

_“Clarke, this is… this is huge. You can’t tell anyone you know this.”_

_“What?” She snapped her head to him. “No, Bellamy, people have a right to know! If this is true, then this affects all of us. There are so many smart people on the Ark, if we… if we just work together then we can figure a way out of this!”_

_“We? Clarke, we’re just kids, this isn’t up to us! If your dad knows about this, then let him handle it. Your mom’s on the Council, and they’ll know how to deal with this. There has to be a reason they haven’t gone public with this yet.”_

_“No, I don’t buy that. This is too big to keep from everyone.”_

_He ran a hand through his hair, an inch away from losing his cool. “Look, just give me… give me a day to think about this. My shift starts soon, we can talk about it tomorrow. In the meantime, just keep a low profile, okay? Please? For me.”_

_Clarke chewed her lip, considering her options. Bellamy looked desperate, but underneath the panic was the man she would trust with her life, who she could go to with anything. With a sigh, she nodded at him. She could give him a day._

_Bellamy let out a shaky breath and pulled her in for a hug, kissing the top of her head. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

**_THE DAY OF_ **

_Abby had been called in to medical for the day after a spike in oxygen deprivation cases. Clarke tried to appear surprised, and her mother seemed to buy it, assuring her she could handle it on her own. That left Jake and Clarke alone together for the foreseeable future, and she was getting anxious. She hadn’t heard from Bellamy yet today – hadn’t seen him around the canteen, on his rounds on the Ark, anything. Never even told her how his meeting with Shumway went, let alone what to do about the oxygen situation. So, while Jake worked alone in his office again, Clarke did something impulsive. She knocked on his office door._

_“Dad?”_

_“Hey, honey,” Jake’s voice came through the door. “Give me a few minutes, I’m still working.”_

_“I know about Sector 7.”_

_The sound of pen on paper stopped, and Clarke worried she’d made a huge mistake. Then, footsteps, and the door opened. “How do you know about that?”_

_“Um,” she scrunched her face up apologetically. “I might’ve… broken into your office yesterday.”_

_Her father pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I knew it looked different. Clarke, look at me.” She met his eyes, and he continued. “I know this is scary, but I told Thelonious everything last night.”_

_“What did the Council say?”_

_“They told me to stop working on it. Destroy everything I wrote down.” Jake sighed. “Clarke, they don’t want the Ark to know. And I told him I agreed.”_

_“You’re not doing anything? Dad, that’s insane! Are they just gonna let everyone die? Without any warning? We can’t – we can’t let them do that; we have to change their minds – we need to do something!”_

_“Clarke! Clarke, listen to me!” He cut through her panic, bringing her in for a hug. Her father’s hugs always soothed her, feeling the warmth of his chest against hers. “Oh, baby girl. I know. I know, honey, and I am doing something.”_

_It was then that she glanced behind him at his desk, where a camera sat ready to film, and where he was writing notes for what appeared to be some kind of speech. “You’re gonna broadcast this? Against the Council’s orders?”_

_“I know that we can come together and face this as a society. I trust that there are good people who’ll see what I’m doing as the right thing.”_

_After a moment of shock, she pushed him. “Are you suicidal? Jaha won’t appreciate you going behind his back, and Kane? Jesus, dad, he’ll kill you! There has to be another way.”_

_“You sound like your mother; she hates this idea.” He chuckled softly. “But there’s no other way. Anything you could say to try to change my mind, Abby already has. This is the only option, Clarke. I have to believe Thelonious will understand, it’s the only way we get a shot at a future for you and for everyone else on the Ark.”_

_Clarke absorbed that for a moment, then levelled her expression, steeling herself for what was to come. “Then I want to help.”_

_Jake ushered her out of his office and closed the door behind them. “Clarke, no, it’s too dangerous. I don’t want you-”_

_Before he could finish his sentence, a thunderous bang interrupted him. Both their heads swivelled to the source, and found several armed members of the Guard bursting through the door._

_“Jacob Griffin, you are under arrest for treason. Please come quietly.” Commander Shumway stepped forward._

_“Dad?” Clarke’s voice wavered, dread filling her up, suffocating her from the inside out. The guards moved to take him, and when he didn’t resist, Clarke panicked. “Dad, no! Please!” she lunged for him, and one of the Guards held her back. She tried to wriggle from his grip, keeping her gaze locked on to her father as his hands were cuffed behind his back._

_“No, let go of her!” Fear filled Jake’s features, not for his own safety, but for his daughter’s. “Clarke, don’t fight, don’t resist, it’s okay!”_

_“No!” She wailed, and two of the Guards dragged her father out of the room. “Dad!” As soon as she lost sight of him, she broke down sobbing, collapsing into the Guard’s arms. Heart ripped out of her chest, she had never felt more broken, her chest a hollow cavity where the organ used to be. She could have died right there and not cared one bit, and then the final nail was driven into the coffin when the Guard holding her spoke._

_“I’m so sorry, Clarke.”_

_She stiffened, the flow of tears pausing as the processed the voice. With a sudden burst of energy, she broke out of his arms and whipped around to face the man who had kept her from reaching her father, and her blood ran cold. Standing in front of her, with the audacity to look like he pitied her, was the only person she let in on the secret. Bellamy._

_The betrayal seared through her like acid, and if she had a heart left, it would have shattered so loud he could hear it. He took a step towards her and she jerked away, refusing to be anywhere near the person she thought she could trust. “Don’t fucking touch me.”_

_She watched the words sting as they hit him, and the remaining Guards broke down the office door, invading her home like the parasites they were. Clarke wasn’t stupid, she knew what was going to happen. Anyone over the age of 18 found guilty of a crime was floated immediately, and they would find all the evidence they needed in that room to prove beyond a doubt that Jake was about to go public. But knowing what was going to happen didn’t mean she accepted it, and it sure as hell didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight for her father’s life. The infestation of Guards buzzed around her family’s quarters for the better part of an hour, keeping her there as they hauled out the very same documents Bellamy had helped her find the previous day, and she kept her distance from him, knowing that if she got too close to him she’d do something that would get her sent to the Skybox._

_“Clarke Griffin,” Commander Shumway approached. “Come with us, you can say your goodbyes now.”_

_Clarke pushed off from the counter she’d been leaning on, and her stomach sank. “Goodbyes? No, there has to be a trial.”_

_“Not for treason, not with this amount of evidence. Blake?” He signalled for Bellamy to guide her through the room, but Clarke’s head was spinning, and she felt like she was going to be sick. No trial? She’d never heard of a sentencing being carried out without a full trial; judge, jury and… bile rose to her throat at the thought of the final word, and the next few minutes were a blur as she was taken through the twists and turns of the Ark, not breaking out of her daze until Abby ran to her, taking her in to her arms as tears ran down her face._

_“I’m so sorry, baby.” Abby stroked her hair, and Clarke clung to her chest._

_“Mom?” Clarke pulled away to see her face, eyes red and streaming. “Where – oh, god.” She took in their surroundings and her face fell. Guards flanked them, Bellamy included, and Chancellor Jaha stood at the end of the corridor, waiting by the switchboard that controlled the bay doors. Beyond those doors was the pod that led to space outside, the dark sky visible through the glass, Earth bright behind it. Clarke’s legs went weak. This was where people were floated._

_“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Abby comforted her, though she sensed she was fighting to stay strong._

_Clarke gritted her teeth, fear turning to rage when she saw Bellamy approach. Breaking away from her mother, she bared her teeth at him. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry. Was this your task, huh?” She poked a finger to his chest. “Are you Shumway’s little prodigy now? I hope you’re fucking happy.”_

_“Clarke!” Abby scolded, but Bellamy interrupted her._

_“It’s okay, Abby. I broke her trust. She’s right to be angry at me.” Bellamy held Abby’s gaze longer than necessary, and it infuriated Clarke._

_“Don’t talk to her.”_

_More footsteps neared them, boots on metal echoing down the hall, and Clarke turned to see who was coming. She let out a strangled gasp when she saw her father being led by two guards, who uncuffed him as he approached. Once he was freed, Clarke launched herself into his arms, holding him so tightly her fingernails dug into his skin. If it hurt, he didn’t say, he just held her just as closely, both taking their last look, last smell, last hug from the other. “I’m so sorry, dad,” Clarke managed, her voice wracked with sorrow. She sniffed, then spoke again. “I love you.”_

_“Oh, baby, I love you so much.” He broke away from her and held her head between his hands. “Look at me. This is not your fault, I knew the risks.” His face faltered as she welled up, and he gently kissed the top of her head while he fiddled with his wrist. When he finished, he handed her his watch. “Look after this, okay?”_

_Clarke gripped the watch tight and held it close to her chest, sealing the promise with a nod, not trusting her words. In a final moment of panic, she brought him in for one last hug before Abby squeezed her shoulder. Reluctantly, Clarke stepped back, and watched as her parents embraced._

_“Hey, baby.” Jake sniffed into Abby’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be okay. But you have to warn them.”_

_Abby choked back a sob. “Jake, stop.”_

_“It’s the only way.”_  
  
“No, it’s not!” Abby whispered into his ear. “There’s Earth! Jackson and I think-”

_Jake shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. Just keep Clarke safe, okay?” Clarke watched as her mother wept, giving a weak nod while Jake removed his wedding ring and placed it in her palm. “Hang on to that for me.”_

_“Jake,” Chancellor Jaha’s voice boomed through the hall as he opened the first set of doors. “It’s time.”_

_A smothered cry burst through from Clarke’s mouth. “No!” She lunged for her father when he took the first steps towards the door, but Abby caught her hand and pulled her in to her arms._

_“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.” Jake looked at her with soft eyes as the doors closed behind him, and she kept her eyes firmly locked onto him, not knowing what moment would be the last until Jaha pulled the lever, and she watched as her father was pulled out to the sky, oxygen ripped from his lungs as he disappeared into space._

_Clarke fell to her knees, screaming but unable to hear it over her pain. All those years of medical classes, and it took this day for her to realise that the most excruciating way to kill someone was not to kill them at all. It was to give them a loved one, warm and kind, who made them feel important, taught them to be gentle, to be strong, to care, and then to rip that love away from them; that love that they now needed as fundamentally as they needed air, and watch as they choke._

_After what felt like an eternity, Clarke gathered the strength to rise to her feet, and found herself faced with Bellamy. With as much strength as she could muster, she bolstered herself to the ground and looked at him, all barbed tongue and venomous teeth as she spoke. “I never want to see your face again.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, loves! i also wanted to say a huge thank you to anyone who nominated me in the bellarke fic awards this year!! i was so stunned to see myself up there so many times, it's honestly a shock to think people read this and enjoy it - sometimes i forget i'm not just screaming into a void 😂 so many of my favourite authors and friends are up there too, so please, if you want to show them some love, don't forget to vote for your faves on tumblr (even if it's not me!) xx


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